


She Is Mine

by misscinny



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Female Lavellan - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Possessive Behavior, cullen rutherford - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 12:19:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5967211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misscinny/pseuds/misscinny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Orlesian Noble and his son come to Skyhold to offer funding for the Inquisition's forces. The Noble's son, taken by Lavellan's power and beauty, decides to stay and attempt to charm the elf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Is Mine

Dressing in full armor used to be such a chore back when Cullen resided in Ferelden’s circle. It would take him at least an hour unassisted. It was tedious and exhausting to rise with the sun and prepare himself in his boring routine. The armor was so hot and heavy, he would be sweating by the time he left his barracks to start his day - even years after being accustomed to the garb.

His routine in the morning was undoubtedly still very boring. He awakened with the sun, still. He would still assemble each part of his armor - though blindly, as there was no mirror for him to watch himself. If he had time, he would go down to the kitchens and eat a quick breakfast before tending to the matters of his men. But at least he was no longer cooped up in that excessive armor.

He tightened the leather straps on his breast plate securely, clanking a fist against his chest to assure it was in place. He paused as he reached for his gauntlets. He pushed up his sleeves to observe the obvious enflamed marks on his forearms. Four little puncture marks, symmetrical on both arms. He touched them gingerly, wincing a bit when they responded with a tiny shot of pain. He grabbed the small flask that he had left on the windowsill next to his bed. He let the contents spill into his hand - a simple elfroot salve made by Skyhold’s alchemists to heal shallow wounds. He rubbed it into his skin gingerly, then continued with dressing himself.

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Cullen’s lips as he fastened the metal bracers into place. She had sharp nails, for sure. But, she endured worse pain than he did when he received his war wounds, he knew. The ache in his skin did not bother him, though. It was all worth it to know that she had the best night he could possibly give her; even if it was limited. Seeing that gorgeous smile spread wide across those lush lips was enough to make Cullen’s heart backflip. And hearing those three words slide off of her tongue so naturally... It was beautiful in her language as well as his.

Cullen buckled the belt that holstered his sword securely on his hips, and in one swift motion, his coat was over his shoulders. Fur nestled into his neck, immediately warming the exposed skin. With a satisfied sigh, he made his way out of his office.

When he opened the door, he was greeted with a chilly breeze. The air in the mountains always seemed to bite through his armor and leathers in the mornings. He pushed the fur collar against his cheeks to fight the cold as he made his way down the stairs of the battlements. 

A sudden raucous made Cullen stop in his path. He turned towards the sound, seeing several guards huddled together near the portcullis and pushing against… Something. Cullen narrowed his eyes to see better, instinctively placing a hand on the hilt of his sword. Just as he started his approach to the tussle, it dissipated, one guard dragging a very incensed young man away. Cullen smiled slightly, proud of his men for making quick work of the situation.

Other than that tiff, the grounds were relatively calm. Cullen nodded to comrades and companions as he made his way into the Main Hall. It was no more crowded than usual at this time of day, mostly filled with workers as they got the day ready for everyone else. Observing the tables that lined the walls, there seemed to be a bit more food set out than a typical morning. Cullen shrugged it off. Sometimes extra food was cooked before it spoiled.

Furthering his trek into the keep, he passed Josephine’s desk, heading for the War Council room. Six days of the week, at the very brink of dawn, he, his fellow advisors, and the Inquisitor assembled to give reports and send out men accordingly to appointed missives. 

“Commander, it is good to see you,” Leliana said, already in her position behind the table. Cullen nodded to her. The Spymaster was always the first to make an appearance. And she was always bright-eyed and ready to send her men out to do underhanded, shady dealings. It was admirable, really.

Josephine bustled in, barely acknowledging either of the advisors. Always with her nose shoved deep into her clipboard, scratching harshly written scribe across the papyrus that Cullen was sure only she could read. He had given up trying to review her reports, handing them over for Leliana to decipher. The two were so close that they could practically read each other’s minds, so it worked for his benefit.

The massive door to the room opened, and in she walked. Cullen’s heart leapt at the sight of her. Disheveled and unkempt from her night’s sleep, she was a vision in his eyes. His gaze fixed on her as she walked up to the table, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and yawning. A small smile appeared on his lips when she glanced up to him. Enchanting green eyes, narrow features and pouty lips blazed with beauty as she returned his smile. Maker, it took everything in his power to keep from jumping across the table and smothering her with kisses.

“To get things started, I wanted to inform Miss Lavellan that we have a rather important meeting with some Orlesians after our Council has concluded,” Josephine piped up, pushing Cullen’s thoughts to the back of his mind for now. His upper lip twitched at the thought of having to deal with any of those priggish people. All they cared about was wealth and power, and their ridiculous ‘Game.’ He didn’t envy Vhildere her impending misfortune.

As if reading his thoughts, Vhildere let out a prolonged disgusted sound from the back of her throat. “What could they possibly want this time?” The pitch of her voice was raised an octave as she whined her protest. Her eyes darted back to Cullen, and she dropped her head with a shy smile. “Unless, of course, this is another ruse to get me to spend time with the Commander.”

Her sweet smile at recalling the memory filled him with warmth. Oh, how he wished that were the case. It was hard enough to plan that without Vhildere’s knowledge, and they definitely didn’t have the time for something like that. It took days of planning, last time.

“I’m afraid that is not the case,” Josephine answered for him. “A Duke and his son have come to Skyhold looking to fund our cause. Monsieur du Beauchamp has graciously offered to help provide more horses, and fund our armory for the soldiers. His only demands were that he could meet with the Inquisitor and inspect the grounds before committing.”

Why hadn’t he been informed about this? Cullen turned his attention to his fellow advisor with a furrowed brow. He felt he should at least be involved when it came to negotiations over his men. Josephine brushed him off without a second glance. Sighing, he yielded any argument brewing in his mind. She was the Ambassador, he reminded himself. She knew what she was doing.

The rest of the meeting dragged by as it usually did. Vhildere’s eyes darting between the advisors as they all gave different opinions on what to do with certain issues that had arisen in Thedas; uncertainty in her gaze until something was said to her that made sense to her. Cullen was astounded at how her confidence had grown since this whole ordeal had started. The first time she was introduced to the table, he remembered watching her drag her hands through her hair desperately, worrying over every minute detail. Now, if she heard something that she agreed with it, she never hesitated to back it with the Inquisition’s support.

Finally, they wrapped up their dealings. Josephine and Leliana filed out of the room, followed closely by Vhildere. Cullen caught up to the Inquisitor, grabbing her by the elbow as they entered the long hall that led to the Ambassador’s office. She turned, smiling brilliantly when she realized that it was him. Her features were lit from the sun pouring in through the large hole that never seemed to be a priority to Skyhold’s repair. Cullen couldn’t help but return the smile as he pulled her into his arms. He relished the feel of her in his embrace. The floral smell from her hair filled his nose, triggering his sensory memory of their shared time the night before. The scent of her fresh from her bath, herb-steeped water droplets transferring from her hair to his chest…

Cullen groaned at the memory. A gloved hand threaded into her hair, tilting her head back enough for him to stoop and kiss her lips. A fire lit from their contact, and it fanned out to spread through his body. He savored the plush softness, pushing harder against her mouth. He could never get enough of that sweet taste, and the sound that emitted from her throat every time they kissed.

After a wonderfully drawn out moment, he pulled back enough to look at her. Green Elvhen eyes glinted back at him, shining from the stream of the morning sun.

“I missed you this morning,” Vhildere said lightly. She reached a hand up and cupped his cheek, stroking his stubble fondly as if it had been an eternity since they had last touched. At least, that’s how it always felt to Cullen.

He leaned into her touch and placed a gentle peck on the heel of her palm. “I’m sorry. I needed to fetch my armor, and you’re so beautiful when you sleep. It seemed a shame to wake you.” Cullen waxed endearment, hoping it was enough for her to forgive him for leaving her bed early. It was true that he needed to retrieve his armor, but he was also uncertain if she was comfortable enough with everyone seeing them leave her chamber together. He did not want derogatory terms to suddenly start flooding the Keep simply because they had shared her bed last night.

Vhildere snuggled into Cullen’s chestplate, sighing lightly. He felt momentarily guilty that his armor inhibited her from actually pressing against his chest. He loved feeling her heat radiate through his clothes and seep into his skin. Delicate fingers trailed down his arm, resting on the bracer. She traced over the Templar insignia mindlessly for a brief time, then glanced back up at him.

“How are your arms?” She winced at recalling what she had done to him the night before. When her nails had dug into his flesh, Cullen hadn’t even realized that she had done it until immediately after the fact. He was… Too preoccupied otherwise to notice.

“They’re fine. It is nothing to worry about,” he assured. He’d have her do it again if he was able to relive that glorious moment. Last night was a night that Cullen would treasure in his mind forever.

Begrudgingly, he stepped back from her. “I know your presence is required elsewhere,” he said in a low tone. Vhildere’s expression shifted to apparent disgust. He took pleasure in the fact that she shared the same distaste for those people as he had.

“I suppose,” she grumbled. She started back down the hall, heading for Josephine.

“I love you,” he called behind her.

A resplendent smile flashed back at him. “I love you too, Vhenan,” she reciprocated, blowing him a playful kiss.

The words filled Cullen. It made him stand taller and walk with confidence. His saunter changed to a strut as he made his way back through the main hall of the keep. Loping down the steps, taking two at a time, he made his way to see how his soldiers’ practice had progressed.

He slowed his pace as he approached the ring where his men typically sparred. An unfamiliar man stood in the center, challenging every single soldier that stood along the fenced perimeter. His ornate clothing and mask tipped Cullen off immediately as to the man’s origin. His upper lip twitched, knowing he would have to deal with one of them.

The Orlesian turned to Cullen as he approached. The needle-like tip of his foil was thrust in the Commander’s direction, and the noble’s chin lifted in a sharp motion.

“You there,” he called. “Perhaps you are brave enough to fight me.”

Several eyes shifted to look up to their Commander as the challenge was thrown in his direction. Cullen sighed and shook his head. The man was young, and had a very cocky demeanor.There was no time for this nonsense.

“Were you the one causing such a problem with my guards this morning?” he asked, skirting the fence to find the opening. He already knew the answer to that question.

“Irrelevant,” the man said, twirling his sword in his hand. “Come, Fluffy. Let us fight.”

Enough of this, Cullen thought as he brushed off the blatant insult. He cleared the fence in one swift motion and approached the man, one hand on the hilt of his sword. A wide smile spread beneath the nobleman’s mask at seeing the Commander advance him. He quickly slid into a fencing stance, one gloved hand tucked behind his back, his feet shoulder width apart. Cullen circled him, looking for a way to get past that ridiculous weapon.

“What are you doing, Fluffy? Your sword is right there on your hip,” the masked man taunted. That word was quickly becoming overused. Cullen quickly reached out and grabbed the pointed blade, knowing it was a thrusting weapon. The blade would not cut his hands. He used the man’s surprise to his advantage, quickly stripping him of his weapon.

“Get out,” Cullen demanded.

“Ah, dirty trick, Fluffy. Best two out of three.”

Cullen’s lips curled back into a snarl. “Commander,” he corrected, clearing the short distance between them. A strong hand gripped at the scruff of the nobleman’s collar. Effortlessly, he dragged the Orlesian to the edge of the ring and tossed him out. There was an audible thud as the young man made contact with the ground, rolling once before coming to a complete stop. Cullen held on to the foil, not wanting him to challenge his men again.

“If you’re looking for a good sparring partner, Seeker Pentaghast is constantly whipping on her training dummy. I’m sure she would be more than happy to beat on something that possibly has the chance of fighting back. Just don’t scream when she hurts you. She hates that.”

The young nobleman stood up, brushing himself off indignantly. He cast a single glance towards Cullen, obviously wanting to throw some sort of protest or insult. Whether it be about Cullen keeping his sword, or about his choice in coats, it was left unsaid as he decided against it. Boots scuffed in the dry dirt as he turned on his heel and left.

Pleased with himself, Cullen tossed the abandoned weapon to one of the soldiers. Nothing was going to bring him down from his euphoria today. He had laid claim on his woman last night, and she had professed her love for him in return. And nothing had changed overnight, even after the exhilaration had calmed. She loved him, and it was glorious.

“On with your training,” he commanded with a dismissive gesture.

***

Time krept past at an aching pace. The sun slowly crept across the sky, Cullen had noticed. It didn’t help that for once, he was anxiously awaiting for this day to be over with. He wanted to get out and spend some time with Vhildere after his work was done, but paperwork kept piling up on his desk. Reports on virtually everything the Inquisition was currently handling seemed to appear. If there was a possible problem, there was a report on it. Cullen sighed, signing off on assignments and writing out missives for deployments. His hand began to ache from the constant writing.

The sun finally settled behind the horizon, painting the sky with deep shades of red and violet. It was Cullen’s signal to finally dismiss himself from his work, albeit it temporarily. He had been making it a point to set aside time for Vhildere each evening, even if it was just to sneak a peck on the cheek. If the two of them had managed to get done early enough, they would sneak down to the kitchen for a private dinner together. It usually only consisted of uncooked things - fruits, cheeses, bread - Neither of them were very skilled with cooking.

Pushing the plethora of papers aside, Cullen jumped up from his desk. He took long strides as he left his office, clearing through the battlements. There was no sense in rushing, he knew. Vhildere would be there by the throne, waiting for him as was their most recent routine, regardless of his pace. But still, he looked forward to seeing her dazzling smile every time he approached her.

Upon entering the Main Hall of the Keep, though, Cullen found no sign of her. Stepping up on the dais, he scanned the entirety of the hall.

Nothing.

His jaw set. It wasn’t like her to not be there. Although, it was possible that she had been held up with Josephine or Leliana.

With that thought, Cullen stepped down from the platform and headed for Josephine’s office. He swung the door open, stopping suddenly when he found Vhildere surrounded by his fellow advisors and two others. She looked almost desperate, and seemed exhausted as she continuously forced a smile to her company.

“Oh, Commander, excellent timing,” Josephine’s lilt carried through the air when she noticed him standing in the doorway. “I was about to send someone to fetch you. Monsieur, this is Ser Cullen Rutherford, our Inquisition’s lead tactician.”

Cullen stood, still framed by the doorway as his dark eyes glanced over the two unfamiliar men. One was much older, perhaps close to the same age as his own father. Grey strands highlighted his black hair. He had a tall stance - broad-shouldered and kept his chin up, even as he stared down his nose at Cullen with silvery eyes. The man practically filled the air with his presence, alone.

The second man was much younger, perhaps still finishing out his second decade. Straight raven hair framed his face. Strong chin, square jaw, and same judgemental stare from an identical pair of eyes. But this man held Cullen with a slightly bemused smirk.

“Commander, this is Duke D’Artagnan du Beauchamp, and his son Marquis Gaston du Beauchamp,” Josephine introduced. The two men took their cue to bend at the waist in a simultaneous bow. Cullen blinked, unsure of how to reciprocate the gesture.

These were the men that the Ambassador had mentioned earlier that day. The Duke that wanted to help fund the Inquisition. Cullen honestly had hoped to avoid them during their stay.

“You are the Tactician. You handle the soldiers, non?” the Duke addressed Cullen. He gave a curt nod in reply. “Then I will have a walk around the grounds with you tomorrow. I would like to see how you train your men.”

“I would like that,” Cullen lied. His eyes shifted to the Duke’s son, who still pointed an amused expression at him.

“With that, I believe I shall retire for the night. My Lady Inquisitor, it was indeed an honor to meet you,” the Duke said as he turned back to face Vhildere. Cullen watched as the Duke kissed her once on each cheek. Surely an Orlesian formality, but it still caused a twist in his gut. He quickly realized how much he disliked seeing another man touch her. Vhildere’s face twisted for a moment before she switched back to her bright smile. That made him laugh inwardly. Apparently she liked it just as much as he did.

Though, when the son leaned in, Cullen’s entertained demeanor slipped quickly into vexation. Each peck on the cheek lingered slowly, and he made no effort to let his hand move from her waist until he stepped away.

A muscle leapt in Cullen’s jaw, biting back any protests. He knew it would be wise to not say anything. The Inquisition relied solely on its support from diplomats, nobles, and those otherwise with power and money. If anything were to be said out of line, it could cause a trickling effect of consequences. Reputation was detrimental, yet fleeting.

He stepped aside as the two Orlesians made their way towards the doorway that he currently blocked.

“Until tomorrow, then, Fluffy,” the son remarked as he passed.

Cullen’s blood froze at the familiar insult.

“Have you met this man?” The Duke paused to address his son, shifting his gaze between him and Cullen.

Dark eyes met with silver as the two men were held in a tense pause. Maker, no. The pompous man he had jostled around earlier that day was the Marquis. The son of the man that was going to singlehandedly fund the Inquisition’s arms and horses. Cullen silently prayed to the Maker that he wouldn’t say anything.

A coy smirk slid back into place on the Marquis’ lips.

“Briefly,” he finally answered.


End file.
